


Fitting Punishment

by ChokolatteJedi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Homework, Mental Instability, school shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-22
Updated: 2006-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A psychiatrist is required to interview a young school shooter</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitting Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> My final creative writing class assignment.
> 
> **Warning: This story does deal with school shootings. I know this can be a sensitive subject, so I wanted to give you a heads up in advance.**

“Mac? It’s Torra; I got your message. I’m to interview one of the Dalton High shooters?”

“Yes. There’s a question about the sanity of one of the boys.”

Torra snorted

“I know, I know, but they requested a psych eval and that means you’re up.”

“Alright.”

“Great. The boy will be in at ten. I’ll have someone send you all the paperwork we’ve got.”

“Alright.”

“See you in court.”

Torra hung up the phone and growled. “Who do they think they’re kidding? Calling me in for a school shooting? The kids were caught red handed; there’s no question of guilt. Arg! I hate defense lawyers who grasp at any straw they can find.”

Her husband hummed sympathetically and rubbed her shoulders. “When will you be home?”

“I don’t know, but this shouldn’t take too long.” Giving him a gentle kiss, Torra got off the couch and went to change.

\-----

“Hello Jonathan Parker. My name is Doctor Gage. I’m going to be talking to you for awhile, alright?” She led him into her office and gestured towards the tan couch and chairs in the corner as she grabbed the files Mac had left on her desk. The boy was about 5’11 and thin, but not scrawny. He was wearing jeans and a black Korn shirt. Par for the course, so far.

“Sure. You know, my sister looked like you, kind of. She had long black hair too. But her eyes were black, like mine, not blue. And she wasn’t tanned like you.” Torra noted that Jonathan sat up strait on the couch, not sloppily like most of the teens she interviewed. He also seemed completely uninterested in the potted plants or caged finches in the rest of her office; he was completely focused on their conversation.

“How old is your sister?” Torra sat on one of the armchairs by the couch, setting the files and her tape recorder on the small table beside her.

“She was seven.”

“Was?”

“She died. She was in the snow, and her hair was all bluey-black, and spread out like water. She was very light, like the snow.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

Torra glanced at the file lying on the table beside her tan chair. _Death in Family: Father was driving him and sister back to their mother’s house two days after Christmas, six years ago. Car spun out and crashed. Neither child was wearing a seatbelt. Father was knocked unconscious; sister ejected through window. He broke an arm being thrown against the back seats, but crawled out of the car to find his sister. She died before ambulances could arrive on scene._

“Alright, do you have any other siblings, Jonathan?”

“No.”

“Do you see your dad often?”

“No, he lost visiting rights.”

“Did you have many friends when you were younger?”

“No.”

“How about in school?”

“Just Kelli and Nick.”

Torra checked her file again. _On the eighth of February, 06, he was involved in a shooting at Dalton High School along with Kelta Dune and Nick Stark._

“Tell me about Kelli and Nick.”

\-----

“What can you tell me about Wednesday the eighth?”

“Nick and Kelli came over before school. We had a project due and wanted to finish it up. They both had large bags with them, so I had to carry our project board. We had second period free and met behind the theater like always.”

“And then?”

“I’m not sure…”

Torra waited for him to finish his thought.

“They say I’m a criminal. I don’t think I am, though. I don’t really remember that day, but I don’t think I killed anyone.”

“Do you think you are capable of killing someone?”

“Oh yes.”

“Really?”

“I think everyone is capable of killing someone. We all have the potential and the feelings needed.”

“Please, continue.”

“Well it’s all a matter of control. Most people can control the death within them. But sometimes, something will happen, and break the bars. And then the death gets out.”

“So you’re saying that all murders are unconscious reactions? A mere result of exceptional surroundings or circumstances?”

“The first ones are.”

“Go on.”

“Well I think that when the death comes out, and you lose control, it probably feels good, like an addiction. Actually, more like when you cry and get all hysterical, and then you feel better. And I think most people want to be in control, and force the death back inside themselves. But some people like that release too much, and don’t try to lock death up again. And that is the problem.”

\-----

“How did the other students behave towards you before?”

“They didn’t.”

“They didn’t what?”

“Behave towards me.”

Torra looked up from her notes. “What do you mean?”

“I actually don’t think most of them knew my name.”

“Did they tease you a lot?”

“No, they avoided seeing me. They tried to pretend I didn’t exist; they didn’t speak to me at all.”

“How did the teachers react to this?”

“They took an “out of sight, out of mind,” approach. If they called on me, people would ignore what I said, and the teacher would have to repeat it. If they didn’t call on me, I wouldn’t talk, and they wouldn’t have to repeat anything. I don’t think it was about me, personally, but just a matter of self preservation. Most of them just need to feed themselves, and their paycheck is pretty small. If they’re not getting paid well to teach us and take care of us, they go for the lowest denominator. We have to pass certain tests to graduate and get out of their way, so they teach us enough to pass and leave the rest up to us.”

“Interesting.” Torra’s watch beeped and she glanced at it. “It’s noon, would you like to have a quick break and get some lunch?”

“Okay.” Jonathan stood and waited for her to lead him out of the office.

Once he was turned over to his guard, Torra walked down the street to the subway. Meatball sub and chips in hand, she walked back to her office and reviewed her notes. She found a few routine patterns and one that was highly unusual.

Frequently Jonathan paused before answering her, as though he was thinking very hard about his answer. Usually, it was a simple question, like his age or what book he last read in English class. He seemed to have trouble remembering those kinds of details. At the same time, he could spew out very impressive analysis of complicated issues without a moment’s hesitation, or name every student in one of his classes, first by where they sat in the room and then in alphabetical order.

If she didn’t know better, she would say he was Autistic, but he showed none of the other signs of it. She would look into that when Jonathan came back.

Planning out what to ask next, Torra finished her lunch, then waited for Jonathan to be brought back in.

\-----

Torra sipped her chamomile tea and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She knew that the sun had set a while ago, but she didn’t know how late it was. Jonathan had left at four and she had been pouring over her notes since then.

What had seemed like a simple case of teenage ‘notice me’ angst and rebellion was now a twisted mess in her mind. Reading the police report only made things worse.  
 _  
The girl, Dune, went off on her own towards to main quad, viciously attacking both students and teachers alike. At first she fought physically, injuring two students. Then, when teachers attempted to drag her away, she pulled out a gun and began shooting. She injured eight students and three teachers, killing one of those students._

_Stark and Parker stayed together, heading towards the science and math classrooms. When they heard shots being fired, they also started shooting. Between them, the boys injured seven students and a teacher. Dune and Stark fought capture. Parker was found sitting on the grass reading, his weapon a few feet away. He put up no resistance._

_Ballistics shows that all of the victims were shot by one of two guns. The third gunman, though he shot just as frequently as his companions, never hit anyone.  
_  
The phone rang sharply, breaking Torra’s concentration. The caller ID showed Mac’s cell.

“Hello?”

“You’re still at the office?”

“Yes, I’m going over the Parker case.” Torra took another sip of her tea.

“I thought you would be. Listen, the word came through a few minutes ago. The prosecution is insisting that, even though Parker didn’t shoot anyone, he should be tried as though he had, since he had intent to kill. The Judge agreed.”

“Damn.”

“What’d you get from the kid?”

“Jonathan is amazingly bright, but has trouble remembering simple things. It isn’t Autism, but it might be something similar. He has an amazing grasp of human reactions and motivations, but has trouble reacting to what he knows. He didn’t want to hurt anyone that day; he didn’t even know what was happening until they handed him a gun.”

“You believe him?” Mac sounded skeptical, but Torra knew he respected her judgment.

“Yes, I do. Mac, this kid does not belong in jail.”

“But does he belong in a mental ward?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Christ, Torra.”

“Read the report, Mac. He didn’t plan the attack. He didn’t go off his nut like the girl. He didn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t even resist arrest; he just sat there reading a book.”

“I know, I read the report.”

“Does that sound like a murderer?”

“No. It sounds like a nut.”

“I don’t think he’s crazy.”

There was a long pause. When Mac spoke again his voice was serious and tired. “I agree. You know I trust your judgment, right?”

“Of course.”

“Look at this from the DA’s point of view. They want him locked up somewhere, anywhere. The odds of this kid getting off are practically non-existent. So assume he’ll be locked up somewhere for the rest of his life, or at least a very long portion of it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You leave a jail when you’ve served your time. There is an end. You leave a mental ward when whatever they think is wrong with you is cured. If it ever is. It could be a month, it could be never. Now, where do you think he should be?”

Torra stared down at her half-finished report. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me in the morning. We’ll fill out the report then.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

\-----

Torra stood beside the witness chair, her hand on the bible. Everything around her was wooden: the chair, the Judge’s bench, even the paneling on the walls. It reminded her of watching Matlock on Nick at Night.

“Do you, Torrance Gage, swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.” Really, she thought, how else would she respond, regardless of her testimony?

“Please sit.”

The prosecutor approached her, smiling thinly. “Hello Dr. Gage. You met with Jonathan Parker yesterday, did you not?”

“I did.”

“And you interviewed him for the purpose of composing a psychiatric evaluation?”

“Yes.”

“And would you please tell the court your findings?”

“Yes.”


End file.
